


Dance with the Flames

by wibblywobblytime77



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Extended Metaphors, M/M, One Shot, Relationship(s), Self-Destruction, abusive Gerard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblytime77/pseuds/wibblywobblytime77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was exhilarating in the beginning, like dancing on the edge of a volcano and knowing that all of that terrifying beauty could consume me in an instant. The heat burned and I taunted the flames. Who was I to think I could taunt a volcano and live to tell the tale? Some, most, would say it was my downfall. The fire was beautiful and I couldn't help but love it. Couldn't help but love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frank

I loved him. Love him. I don't begrudge him a single scar, not a single bruise that has marked my skin. His fingers could be gentle, his words kind. The dripping crimson that stained white skin was my own doing. When a caress turned violent, when the compliments cut; the wounds were self-inflicted. After all it was my decision to stay. It was my decision to not hate the violent colors that graced my skin on a bad night or the blows to my self confidence that tore me from the inside out. Loving him was like trying to love a tidal wave. I always knew I would be hurt, maybe even fatally, and nonetheless I was drawn in like a moth to his flame.

It was exhilarating in the beginning, like dancing on the edge of a volcano and knowing that all of that terrifying beauty could consume me in an instant. The heat burned and I taunted the flames. That too was my doing, who was I to think I could taunt a volcano and live to tell the tale? Some, most, would say it was my downfall. The fire was beautiful and I couldn't help but love it. It was dangerous and I fell hard. It consumed me, blackened my soul, and still I loved it. I mistook the burn for passion and scarred myself with the lovely molten thing that was his lethal smile. The tiny sharp teeth in it that promised excitement and insanity and a hint of darkness among the dancing flames.

I knew what I was doing. I knew it from the very beginning. I was nothing but a piece of paper that was so easily destroyed, so fragile; one drop of water, one spark and I would be erased. He was the spark, he was the hand that crushed me in a split second of anger. As he destroyed me I loved it more than was ever healthy. In that moment I was more beautiful than I had ever been. The light danced along my wrinkled and crushed edges. The flames grew and the lovely light of them danced along my blank surface, the char spreading and consuming. I reveled in the pain and danced in the anguish, even as I was inevitably falling apart.

It was all encompassing. There was never the thought to leave, even when I fell in the volcano, even when the tidal wave crashed over me and the water filled my lungs, even when I was thrown away. I was lost in love, in lunacy. All of my wounds were self inflicted, I know this. Is it ever the ocean's fault when a wave destroys a city? No. It's merely something that occurs because that's what the ocean does. No one would argue this. It wasn't his fault I ignored the warnings, the red flags that begged me to turn back.

Even now when my bones are fractured and my spirit is torn I want him. It was destructive and messy and above all painful but who would I be without it? I needed the adrenaline rush I got just looking at his face. The thrill of it kept me going in a world of blank, bland faces and empty stares. Just wondering what could possibly be rambling the through the twisted corridors of his mind. All the dark nooks and crannies that conceal demons and shadows and tainted specters of his past. Hot coals smoldered beneath the crushing dark that filled his gaze. In a moment of passion, a moment of fury, the coals were whipped to a wild fire that revealed his fractured and tattered soul. In its light there was nowhere for the damage to hide. 

I wondered sometimes if maybe he was as lost in his own mind as I was in his embrace.


	2. Gerard

It was hard to say if what I felt could be called love. It was too vicious, too painful, too intense for something as pure as that feeling. Love is that thing that all seek but few if any find. He thought he had though. I could see it in his lovely wide eyes as I hurt him and he forgave me. I hurt him and in that I patched some broken part of myself. A bandaid for a stab wound. But there were other parts more fragile and far less used that were destroyed the second I laid a hand on his snowy skin. As always the harm was far worse that the relief, but I was an addict like any other. Addicted to his beautiful tears, addicted to the bloom of blood beneath his skin.

I was destroying him and I knew it. I'd torn him to pieces and he just stayed there and loved me. He loved me. How could he do that? How dare he? The marks that sprung from violent fingers and cutting words marred his beauty (added to it) and I was the cause. Still though again and again he would turn adoring eyes on me like I deserved it.

I spend my days teetering between smug satisfaction and deplorable self loathing. I never blamed him though, whichever mood I was in. Even I was not deluded enough to think that he'd brought this on himself.

Sometimes I would blink and find myself staring at my own bloodied knuckles. In that moment a fine trembling would overtake my limbs and I covered tears with a wicked smile. A smile all the more cutting due to the pain it contained. Anything to hide what was real. I lost myself more and more often and when I returned it was always to someone else's blood on my hands and I loved it in the way I couldn't love him. I adored him in the way a God would adore the virgin sacrificed to him as her blood was spilled on the altar. He was the lamb to my slaughter. His blood was on my hands and it was only in his pain I found peace. 


End file.
